


Somne

by CatLovePower



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Magic, Magical Accidents, Manhandling, Monsters, Roach is there, Sharing a Bed, Sleep Deprivation, Sleepiness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-18
Updated: 2020-06-18
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:13:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24792904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CatLovePower/pseuds/CatLovePower
Summary: Jaskier accidentally gets hit by a sleeping spell during a battle. Things go downhill from there. Featuring a tired witcher and a sleepy bard.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 17
Kudos: 138





	Somne

Witchers could use signs, a simplified version of mages’ spells that only required a quick gesture and a lot of focus. Because of that, it was a tricky thing to use in battle, and Geralt reserved them for smaller tasks such as lighting a fire when the wood was damp, or getting out of tight spots during a battle.

He was deeply aware of Jaskier’s curiosity about them, and it made him even more self conscious about it. He wasn’t used to receiving praise and being the object of such fearless fascination.

Jaskier, for all he disliked mages and witches, apparently loved Geralt’s abilities. He argued that it “added depth to an already mysterious character.” Geralt wasn’t sure he liked that point of view, and so he tried to use the signs as scarcely as possible.

*

It was supposed to be a clear cut hunt, in and out of the cave, where half a dozen ghouls were hiding. Except the alderman posting the reward had been all wrong – either on purpose or because he was an ignorant fool – and it turned out there were dozens, if not hundreds, of those things crawling in the caves, plural, a real maze of underground tunnels filled with eaten remains of past victims.

Jaskier had been told to stay outside with Roach, and Geralt really hoped he would stay put this time. But surely the prospect of traipsing through dark and damp tunnels wasn’t creatively appealing enough, to use the bard’s words. 

He had been at it for hours, and there were still more of them coming, so he decided to get out of there. Even the weaker ones tried to grab his foot as he passed, or just clanked their broken jaws on nothing, too rotten to even stand up. He had been keeping a mental tally, and lost count when he caught sight of Jaskier’s bright outfit and heard his soft gasp near the cave entrance. 

Geralt had turned out to be half right, for once, as Jaskier had waited until he was on his way out to show up and gawk, nose wrinkled in disgust. Geralt didn’t know what he expected to see anyway. His armor was covered in dark blood and entrails, and he knew he must have looked terrible, as he grasped his silver sword, his face tense and his eyes two black pits because of the potions he had drunk.

He briefly wondered if he should have used Axii on him when he told him to stay, but the mere thought of using his signs on Jaskier made him nauseous, more than all the bloody hacking he had been doing in the caves.

That damn bard was too trusting for his own good and didn’t need to be taken advantage of. And Geralt didn’t want him to fear witchers’ magic the same way he feared the mages’. There was a story behind that, one that Jaskier still hadn’t told, despite loving to hear his own voice.

And so he grabbed Jaskier by the sleeve and dragged him towards the light outside. The bard flapped him away and made indignant sounds of protest that Geralt had learned to disregard. Instead he kept focused on the ominous growling coming from deep inside the cave. 

It was an alghoul, no doubt about it, it had a very distinctive rumbling. Fighting it wouldn’t be ideal to say the least, not with all the other ghouls following, and Jaskier stumbling around in the entrance.

“Get out!” he ordered, not listening at the bard’s explanations.

He hoped that his tone would convey the urgency of the situation. He didn’t stop to check if Jaskier was obeying or not, and turned to fend off the monsters on his heels. He quickly made the sign of Aard and felt the familiar tingling in his arm. It was getting more and more hard to use, however, and the ghouls were steadily gaining on him. 

He hacked away with his silver sword and used a sign again, switching to Somne now because the ghouls kept coming back up, fueled by their master’s awakening. They stumbled and fell unconscious, allowing him to decapitate them swiftly.

But the fight seemed never-ending and he slowly lost ground, backed up against a wall, exhausted and annoyed. The bodies were piling up on the floor – there was no way he was getting paid enough for that – and it was becoming hard to move around efficiently. He blasted the sign away, again and again, while carving with his sword, the gesture precise and assured. 

Sound came from his left, and he turned towards it, ready to strike. He tripped – a controlled fall really – and the wave of energy that left his fingers met an unintended target. He heard Jaskier yelp and fall.

Why – and how – he had sneaked up and got that close was beyond Geralt. But he found the bard sprawled on the bone-littered ground, with similarly unconscious ghouls half draped over him. Geralt rolled them away and cut their necks, before slapping Jaskier with maybe a little more force than necessary. The bard didn’t react, but Geralt could see his eyes flutter behind his eyelids. Damn idiot was asleep. In a cave filled with monsters. All because of him.

He let out a tired, “Fuck.” 

*

Geralt couldn’t fight and protect Jaskier at the same time, so he opted for a hasty retreat with the unconscious bard flung over his shoulders, then over Roach’s back. He would have to come back and torch the place, or maybe seal off the entrance to the caves with boulders. 

He was getting angry at the lying alderman and townspeople, to avoid getting mad at Jaskier. Anger was always preferable to worry anyway.

He set up camp at a safe distance from the caves, and got a fire going. He braced himself, because Jaskier was bound to wake up soon and he was going to either whine or talk excitedly about the whole experience. Geralt wasn’t sure which option he’d prefer.

It was an accident, he thought. It was just a little long lasting. Maybe a little too long… Distant worry started gnawing. He was sitting near Jaskier’s sleeping form, and took in the slow, even breathing and the slack face.

Geralt didn’t know for sure how long a human adult was supposed to stay down after getting hit by Somne – he was lashing out, in the cave, and aiming at vicious monsters, not soft bards who were too curious for their own good. He knew Jaskier was stubborn though, so he guessed he’d be fine eventually.

*

Jaskier came to long after sunset, and blinked groggily at the fire and then at Geralt.

“Did they get me?” he mumbled.

The witcher frowned, because he was expecting Jaskier to have realized what happened. But he seemed to hold the ghouls responsible, and Geralt was more than happy to let them take the blame.

“You… fell,” he said lamely. “Hit your head.”

He winced because that sounded so unconvincing, even to his own ears – he wasn’t good with words and lies like Jaskier. But his companion nodded minutely and raised a hand to rub his eyes. 

“Oh,” he just said.

He must have had a headache of sorts, because he didn’t even question the half-cooked explanation. But he also didn’t ask about the hunt, or the ghouls, or even where they were. He didn’t say much at all and it was pretty unnerving. 

Geralt wanted to prod, but he also didn’t want to push his luck and tip Jaskier off. Even if he would realize eventually that his thick skull was intact and that he hadn’t hit it. 

The next time he looked at Jaskier, he found him fast asleep again, still propped up where he was moments ago. Geralt shrugged and enjoyed the quiet of the night for once. He supposed the spell’s influence wasn’t totally out of his system yet. Humans were fragile creatures.

*

Jaskier slept and Geralt meditated. Then morning came and it was calmer than most – usually, Jaskier demanded to know all about where they were going and what they were up against, and then he talked Geralt’s ear off about that new song he was going to play or that merchant he hoped to find.

Instead Jaskier was following dutifully with minimal fuss and their morning walk was all too quiet.

They stopped when Geralt spotted interesting plants he needed for potions, and Jaskier just sat down in the shade of a tree and said nothing. He didn’t try to stray from the path, and he didn’t pick poisonous berries or annoy dangerous critters. This time he stayed next to Roach – a decision he took on his own, and not an order for once.

“How’s the head?” Geralt asked, taken aback by the strange behavior.

Jaskier looked at him with unfocused eyes, and said after a pause that was just a little too long for comfort, “I’m fine.”

Then he promptly passed out.

Geralt didn’t freak out, not really. He knew Jaskier didn’t have a concussion. At least he thought he did. He had fallen, when the sign hit him in the caves, what if…

He ran cautious fingers through Jaskier’s hair, feeling his skull and finding it intact and undamaged. So maybe the sign’s influence just wasn’t over yet. Jaskier wasn’t small or frail, but he was only human.

So Geralt put a sleeping bard on Roach’s back, face down across the saddle, with ropes holding him in place in case he decided to wake up. He hoped he wouldn’t meet anyone on the road, or there were going to be rumors about witchers kidnapping innocent bards and he would never hear the end of it.

He smiled and imagined Jaskier’s indignant tone as he raved about him destroying the reputation he had painstakingly built – he had never asked for any of it, but he had to admit that it was nice to not always be perceived as the bad guy for once.

*

An hour or so later, Jaskier stirred and then tried to buck against the ropes keeping him in place.

“Calm down,” Geralt said after a while – he wasn’t stalling because it was amusing to see him so helpless, that would have been mean – “You’re going to give yourself a hernia.” 

Jaskier tried to raise his head to look at him but he was on the wrong side of the horse. He huffed and Geralt untied him and helped him down.

“You’re a brute,” he said as soon as he was free. He straightened his rumpled clothes as best he could. “Now I smell like horse – no offense, Roach.” 

“You’re complaining that I don’t let you ride her, and now you’re unhappy you did?” Geralt remarked. 

“You call that riding?” Jaskier said, spreading his arms. “Care to explain the reason for this indignity?” he pressed.

Geralt wondered what the bard thought was going on and decided to remain vague. “You fainted and that was the most practical way to make sure you wouldn’t fall.” 

Surprisingly, that seemed enough for Jaskier, and they resumed walking back towards the town. Until the bard started falling behind, shuffling unsteadily. Geralt was used to seeing him wander away when he saw an interesting bird or something, but now he was just lagging behind and looking lost.

“Do you want a proper ride?” Geralt offered despite himself – he knew that he was setting a precedent that would be hard to shake off.

Jaskier nodded dully and let Geralt give him a boost to get him situated on the saddle. Roach picked up the pace with Geralt at her side. At this rate, they should reach their destination before sunset.

But that was without counting on Jaskier sliding off the horse without a sound. He was lucky Roach was such a smart girl – and much more observant than Geralt apparently – because she had moved closer to the side of the path, and Jaskier fell on a patch of grass. 

Somne shouldn’t have worked for so long, and now Geralt was at a loss. But there was nothing more he could do out there, so he hoped there was a healer in town.

*

By the time they reached the town, Jaskier was awake again, and Geralt was starting to suspect he was actually playing him and it was all an elaborate joke to get back at him for the spell. He decided that if he ignored him long enough, he would tire of it – pun not intended but it made him chuckle anyway.

The tavern was packed and the inn only had one room left but they were used to sharing. Witchers didn’t need much sleep and bards, Geralt had learned, spent most of their time downstairs playing music or in other people’s beds. 

But Jaskier didn’t offer to play that night. Instead he sat down, sad and tired, a very unusual look on him.

“Is he alright?” the innkeeper asked when she saw him sway on his bar stool.

Geralt steadied him with a hand on his back and remembered that he meant to find a healer. 

“Nothing a good night’s sleep won’t fix,” he answered in a tone that he hoped was reassuring. But he still asked, “Is there a healer in town? Just in case,” he hurriedly added, trying to sound detached. 

“He’s out of town,” she told him. “Coming back tomorrow.” 

Geralt dragged Jaskier upstairs, holding him up with a tight grip on his doublet, and he disliked how unconcerned about his clothes the bard was at the moment. He dropped him on the bed where he fell asleep instantly. 

Geralt considered his options. He could meditate on the floor or… He took off his armor, blew out the candle and pushed Jaskier to the far side of the bed. Then he lay beside him in the dark, telling himself he wouldn’t mind.

*

He slept well that night, and Jaskier still looked like shit the following day. He had a hard time waking him up, and after that he couldn’t seem to keep his eyes open. It was starting to get truly concerning, so Geralt was glad to learn the healer was back in town when he came downstairs.

“I hope you’re not still pretending,” he told Jaskier on the way,” because this is getting ridiculous.”

The bard mumbled something he didn’t quite catch. 

“It was an accident,” Geralt muttered.

Maybe the bard really hated magic that much, and it was his way of letting him know how upset he was. Maybe Geralt should do something nice to apologize… Wait, no. It wasn’t his fault Jaskier couldn’t follow simple orders even Roach understood. And if that whole sleepiness act was real, it wasn’t his fault if his weak human constitution couldn’t shake off the effects of a simple sign. 

*

The healer was a very old man who looked at them with a critical eye when they came into his shop; a tall, annoyed witcher with a small, colorful bard in tow. 

“I think my bard is broken,” Geralt said. “That, or he is faking it to get back at me,” he added with an accusatory glance to Jaskier, who was sitting, keeping his head down, conveniently hiding his face.

“What happened?” the old man asked, visibly intrigued.

He got around the counter and moved closer. Geralt muttered an explanation, feeling sheepish all of a sudden.

“What’s that? Speak up, boy,” the healer said, and Geralt didn’t think anyone had called him ‘boy’ in decades. 

“I hit him with Somne,” he said with a wince.

He didn’t explain further because the man nodded. He clearly knew about witchers and their signs – and yet he called him boy and pushed him aside without a second thought. 

“How long ago?” he asked. He took Jaskier’s wrist and felt his pulse point. 

“Two days,” Geralt admitted. “It should have dissipated by now...” 

The healer was looking at Jaskier’s eyes now, apparently happy with what he was seeing. Geralt thought he should be stressing how annoying and talkative Jaskier usually was, so that the old man had a full picture of the situation.

“He’s tired,” the healer finally announced, looking pleased with his diagnosis. Geralt was starting to suspect the man was actually senile. 

“Yes, that’s the problem,” Geralt insisted. “Somne makes–”

“The target fall asleep,” the healer cut him off. “I’m not dumb, young man.” 

Geralt let out a strangled laugh, because he was probably older than the man himself. He stifled it; it never was a good idea to antagonize doctors and healers.

“He’s just very tired. He’s human, witcher, he needs rest,” the old man said with a pointed look. 

Geralt felt strangely ashamed that the healer thought he didn’t know anything about humans’ needs. He tried to defend himself without even knowing why.

“But he’s always up all night, playing music and having his way with people.” 

“And it all caught up with him at once,” the healer said with a nod.

“Because of the sign?” Geralt still asked, as the nagging feeling of guilt came back in full force.

“Probably, yes. Take a break, witcher. The bard needs to rest.”

Well that was rich considering Geralt hadn’t asked for Jaskier to follow him – quite the opposite actually – but he felt like arguing with the old man would be pointless. Maybe a short pause in between contracts might be pleasant, he even thought. It wasn’t like he needed the coin at the moment anyway.

“I have a job to finish, bounty to collect,” he started, thinking out loud. He needed to seal that cave entrance and get paid for killing way more ghouls than advertised. 

“Don’t leave,” Jaskier whispered, startling him. He left the ‘me’ out but it was implied, as he raised pleading eyes and briefly looked at him.

“I’m not. I’ll be back and then we’ll… rest,” he said, the word very weird and alien in his mouth.

Jaskier let out a small sigh and closed his eyes again. The healer tsk-ed and went back to his potions, muttering about idiots and brutes and Geralt couldn’t help but feel slightly offended even though it was probably well deserved.

*

The next time Jaskier woke up for good, he didn’t move at first, because he could feel a firm body pressed against him, just warm enough to be human and not just pillows – or something horrifying, like a dead ghoul.

He tried to remember if he got lucky the night before, but he realized he had no memories of it, or the whole day before that. He only recalled bone deep weariness, and Geralt pushing him around. He had probably fucked up once again and pissed Geralt off somehow. That was a frequent enough occurrence. 

The person next to him in the bed grunted in their sleep and oh. That was Geralt. Sleeping and being as close to cuddly as he would ever be. Now that could only mean one thing – well, two things actually – Geralt had finally found an alcohol that could get a witcher properly shit-faced drunk, or he was injured. Because there was no way he was sleeping past sunrise without a good reason. 

So Jaskier straightened up on his elbows and turned to look at him in the half-light. The room looked nicer than their usual dumps and it was all very confusing.

“Are you alright?” he asked Geralt when he caught sight of yellow eyes looking at him.

“I could ask you the same question,” the witcher replied, making no move to get out of bed.

“Were you hit over the head?” Jaskier asked. “Or replaced by a doppler?” 

“Uh?” 

“You’re never nice, and you hate wasting time,” Jaskier said in a flat voice. 

He sat up and looked at his clothes, a loose shirt he didn’t remember downing. He didn’t even remember going to bed.

“Did you drug me? Am I that annoying?” Jaskier asked tentatively, because that was the only explanation that made a lick of sense.

Geralt made a face and turned away, before getting up and getting dressed. Jaskier looked at the ceiling for a while. He tried to sift through his disjointed memories and make sense of that whole sleeping arrangement he woke up to.

Geralt went ghoul hunting inside a cave. Except he never resurfaced, and ghouls started crawling out from secondary entrances previously hidden by vegetation. And Jaskier had made the only move that made sense at the time: he went in to look for Geralt, instead of running away from danger like a normal person. He guessed he must have been so tired he panicked.

Tired. He was tired before, but then… Oh. That damn witcher. He actually put him to sleep in the middle of the fight. And he was the one accused of being clumsy, while Geralt blindly shot magic spells all around. At least Jaskier guessed – hoped – it was accidental.

He still turned and punched Geralt in the ribs, catching him unaware as he was putting on his boots. Then he scrambled backwards, out of reach just in case.

“That’s for hitting me with your witcher’s magic,” Jaskier said, pouting.

“You did express the desire to know more about my signs,” Geralt remarked, the wicked bastard. 

“That’s… You...” Jaskier sputtered. He failed to find a good comeback, still too sleepy to think straight.

“Did you tie me up on Roach’s back, or did I dream that bit?” 

“Hmm,” was the only answer he got, but he could see Geralt smile as he looked away. 

“Alright, keep your secrets. But let’s not cast magic on unsuspecting bards anymore, shall we?” Jaskier joked.

But to be honest, if it meant he got to ride Roach on occasion and enjoy lazy mornings in bed from time to time, he was willing to get hit by signs more often.

“No more running into ghoul-filled caves then,” Geralt said. 

“I was only trying to avoid the outside ghouls,” Jaskier protested.

Geralt had finished getting dressed and Jaskier knew he should get moving if he didn’t want to be left behind.

“Wait, where are you going?” he asked hastily. “I’m ready, I just need to find my lute and… clothes… Where did…” 

Geralt pushed him back on the bed with a light shove and a soft grunt.

“There is no hurry,” he said. “I’ll be back. Rest.” 

And that sounded like a really good plan, Jaskier thought, letting himself fall back against the pillows.

**Author's Note:**

> Me: I should work on my WIP.  
> Also me: starts a bunch of one-shots based on silly comments or overused tropes.


End file.
